


Sin

by Anonymous



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Extremely Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, I'm so sorry Christian Boyle, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Parent/Child Incest, Religion Kink, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, also Jesus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28491198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “I said...on your knees."His father’s voice elicits something he doesn’t want within him, a need to obey, a desire to please just as it always has, and Malcolm finds himself sinking down to his knees without his permission.“Perfect. Just perfect, my boy. You see? Just as good as I always tell you he is.”“I do see,” says the Friar. “What averygood boy.”
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Martin Whitly
Comments: 13
Kudos: 52
Collections: Anonymous





	Sin

**Author's Note:**

> Title is accurate to content.

He should have known something was wrong when the guard left the hall. Instead Malcolm doesn’t pay enough attention, caught up in the details of a case with Martin (and a bit of help from his newly assigned roommate, who tends to look at Malcolm in a way that Malcolm doesn’t much like) until he goes to leave.

There’s no one there. Malcolm feels his blood run cold as there’s a click behind him.

“I thought we could talk a little more,” says Martin. His handcuffs have fallen to rest empty on his belt, and he tucks something into his pocket before rubbing his wrists. “I did miss being able to get what I want with just a few well-placed checks into a bank account…”

“I’m on a case,” Malcolm says, trying to keep his fear under control. “This—this isn’t the time, Dr. Whitly.”

His new roommate chuckles softly. Friar Pete, Martin had introduced him, his new best friend after some kind of spat with other prisoners. Malcolm doesn’t feel he fares well, being trapped with both of them, especially when they’re both staring at him like they are. 

Martin notices his fear, of course. He lowers his voice, speaking gently. “Don’t be afraid, Malcolm. I’ve just...missed you so much, my boy.”

“He talks about you every day,” agrees Pete, placing down the book he’d been feigning to read through for their visit, his eyes always on Malcolm whenever Malcolm glanced over at him.

“I’m sorry,” Malcolm says, gaze flicking from one to the other. “He shouldn’t.”

“Oh, I never mind.” Pete folds his hands in his lap, smiling up at him. “You’ve quite the reputation to hold up."

Malcolm twitches. “What does that mean?”

Martin comes forward, right up to the red line. Malcolm doesn’t reel back fast enough, and Martin’s hand closes around his tie, yanking him forward until they’re nose to nose. Malcolm's hands raise to grab at Martin's, tugging. "What—"

Martin interrupts with a sinister chuckle, and says, very low, “Get on your knees, Malcolm.”

Malcolm’s breath catches in his throat. “Let go of me, Dr. Whitly.”

Martin only pulls Malcolm closer, his other hand coming to grasp Malcolm around the throat. He squeezes, as Malcolm's eyes widen, and growls, “I said... _on your knees."_

Malcolm is completely overwhelmed with fear, now. His father’s voice elicits something he doesn’t want within him, a need to obey, a desire to please just as it always has, and he finds himself sinking down to his knees without his permission.

Martin lowers himself with him, just a bit, always being sure to remain towering over him. “Perfect. Just perfect, my boy. You see? Just as good as I always tell you he is.”

Unable to breathe, though he’s not sure it’s because of the grip on his throat or not, Malcolm whines. It’s a question he can’t ask, but it’s answered when Pete makes a sound of appreciation from his place on his bed.

“I do see,” says the Friar. “What a _very_ good boy.”

The praise doesn’t make him lightheaded like Martin’s. It makes him feel sick inside. Martin repeats him, though, calls Malcolm a very good boy, and Malcolm's mouth opens in a gasp he can’t take in. Martin holds onto him tighter, until Malcolm’s pliant and easy to move about, before tugging him entirely over the red line. He releases Malcolm’s throat, and Malcolm gulps for air, dazed enough that he can’t stop himself from being dragged over to the bed.

Martin pushes him up against Pete’s legs, and says, “I’ve been thinking about you so much these past months.”

“Off,” wheezes Malcolm, trying to move away, and then yelps as suddenly Pete is lowering his arms around Malcolm, hands still cuffed before him until Martin, with ease, unlocks them with the same tool he’d used for his own. Pete slips his hands under Malcolm’s arms, and pulls him up, onto his lap.

“I’m not a priest,” says Pete, “but I have a feeling you could use someone to confess your sins to.”

Malcolm bucks up, kicking his feet out, and instead of getting himself anywhere Martin just grabs onto his ankles and pulls them apart, smiling up at him.

“You have no idea the things we’ve talked about,” says Martin, as he licks his lips. “Things just like this. He knows what a _dirty_ little boy my son is...I’ve told him the way you look at me...the way you squirm under my gaze...my touch…”

“No,” Malcolm says, but he isn’t denying it. Can’t. It’s clear not any of the three in the room would believe it.

“Yes,” says Martin anyway, massaging Malcolm’s thigh and resting his chin upon his knee. He’s too close, closer than he’s ever been, and Malcolm’s body is starting to react to it the last way he wants it to.

But the way it always has. It’s never been a well kept secret. He’d started to get hard the very first time he’d come back into this cell, ten years after the last visit, the moment Martin had approached him like a predator, licking his lips, so close Malcolm could feel the heat coming off his body as he reached out for those folders, skin brushing against skin, making Malcolm feel so small, so helpless, so _owned..._

“Fuck.” A moan comes free at the thought, and Martin wets his lips the same way, laughing. He reaches out, rubbing his palm over Malcolm’s half hard cock, and Malcolm swears, back arching. Pete grabs tightly onto his upper arms, holding him in place, and Malcolm knows he could fight, he could (maybe) get away but instead he watches as Martin gets closer, on his own knees like he’s going to do something Malcolm’s sick and twisted mind has only dreamed of. “Dad…"

“There it is,” purrs Martin, and rewards him with another circle of his hand. "That's what I love to hear. Although Dad still sounds too formal..."

Malcolm shudders, and then cries out so loud it hurts his throat when Pete’s index finger stretches out and rubs over a nipple.

“So sensitive,” Pete says. “How interesting.”

“Mine,” Martin says. “Touch, but know he’s _mine._ ”

“Of course.” Pete circles it, and Malcolm shakes his head, trying to push himself away until Pete does it to the other, too, as his father kisses up his inner thigh and palms him again. He sinks back, groaning at the stimulation, and Martin spreads his thighs again as they tremble and try to close.

“Maybe, though,” Martin murmurs as Pete grabs tightly onto his arms. “Maybe we can find something for you to call my friend, Malcolm. Because you're such a good boy...such a nice little boy, for me. For us."

“I’m not a priest,” says Pete again, running cold fingers up under Malcolm’s shirt and over his spine. “But I dreamed of becoming one. You may call me Father, since, quite clearly, _Daddy_ is taken…”

“It is,” says Martin, getting closer, hooking one finger into Malcolm’s belt. “That’s _my_ boy…”

“Stop touching me,” Malcolm breathes, but instead of pulling away he arches into the touch, pushes forward until Martin chuckles and unbuckles it. He pulls it free and tosses it away, and then unbuttons Malcolm’s pants.

“Stop,” Malcolm says again, even more breathless than the last. “Dad—”

“No. No, that’s still not right.” He unzips Malcolm, and leans forward to mouth over his cock through his boxers. “What was that?”

“ _Daddy_ ,” cries Malcolm, and Pete’s arms fold around his upper body, holding him close against him. Malcolm can feel his arousal underneath him, but he can only focus on his father as Martin gives him more praise and and kisses over him, groaning softly, until the fabric starts to get damp with precum.

“Sinner,” Pete murmurs, right into Malcolm’s ear, and Malcolm’s head falls back on his shoulder with a moan as Martin finally pulls his cock out, wasting no time at all before he’s taking it into his mouth.

Malcolm cries out, “Fuck!” and bucks up, and Martin nearly chokes. Pete lowers one of his arms to be around Malcolm’s hips, and even as they start twitching he holds them as still as he can.

“Let me—let me go! Stop—"

“You don’t really want him to stop.” Pete moves his hand, grasping the base of Malcolm’s cock and rubbing his thumb along it. “You don’t want us to stop. It’s okay, Malcolm...it’s alright. Everyone has their cross to bear. God loves His sinners...even those as filthy as you."

Malcolm gasps for air, clawing at Pete’s arm, and then he grasps onto it _tight_ as Martin takes him all the way down until his mouth touches Pete’s fingers, swallowing around him. “Oh God!”

“Blasphemous little thing,” says Pete, biting down gently on Malcolm’s ear, tonguing the shell of it and drawing another long sound of pleasure out of him. “Such a small body full of so much sin…how have you held yourself together this long?”

Martin pulls off, grinning up at him, wiping drool from his chin with the sleeve of his cardigan. “I don’t think he’s as good at that as he pretends to be. Are you, my boy? I think…” He grasps Malcolm’s cock, laving along the underside of it until Malcolm cries out again. “I think he has ways to find a little relief. I think he touches himself at night...thinking of me. Thinking of me taking him apart, just like I am now.”

“That would be why he hasn’t thought to scream, yet,” Pete says. “You’ve dreamed of this, Malcolm? Have you?”

“No one better to confess to,” Martin points out, licking over him again. “Go on, my boy. Tell us your sins.”

Malcolm shakes his head. Pete moves his other hand to wrap around the front of Malcolm’s throat, pressing down just hard enough the sound of Malcolm’s breathing becomes labored.

“Confess to me,” he orders, just as Martin takes him down into his throat again. Malcolm lets out a sob as he chokes, thrusting up into Martin’s mouth until Pete puts more of his strength into holding him still again. “ _Confess_. Is this what you want?”

All Malcolm can manage is to make noises of his arousal, starting to pant harder as he, despite it all, gets closer to orgasm. He’s so close…

Martin stops again, and Malcolm wants to scream. Not for help, but to bring him back. Martin fists Malcolm’s cock, slicked from his mouth, and blows air over the head, teasing him.

“Tell us, my boy. Tell _me._ Tell me just how much you want Daddy’s mouth around you. Tell me just how badly you want to come down my throat. Tell me you want _more,_ Malcolm, or you’ll walk out of here hard.”

Malcolm thrashes in Pete’s arms, and Pete applies more pressure to his throat. Malcolm finds he can hardly breathe at all anymore, and he goes limp, his wide eyes up on the ceiling, as he finally gags and forces out, “I...want... _more!”_

Martin moans, and the sound alone is almost enough to make Malcolm come this on the edge. “Call me what I want to hear."

Malcolm resists for only a minute, in which both of them start to touch over him. Pete starts to tease his nipples again, and that makes him stutter out something incoherent even to him, and then his father pulls Malcolm’s pants down just a few inches more until he can slide his hand into them and around to Malcolm’s ass, fingering over his hole.

Malcolm wails. He squeezes his legs around Martin’s waist, toes curling into his cardigan, as he calls out, “Daddy! Daddy, _please!”_

Martin looks _wicked_ as he smirks up at Malcolm. He looks more evil than Malcolm had ever imagined he could, and he hates that it only makes his cock swell and twitch more.

“That’s my boy.” He takes Malcolm down again, slips his finger into Malcolm, and the burning pain of any part of his father ( _finally)_ inside of him is what finally sends Malcolm over the edge. He screams, coming hard, and Martin makes it worse by swallowing every bit of it, groaning around him like he’s never enjoyed anything more. Malcolm squirms in Pete’s grasp, whimpering, until finally he goes limp, exhausted.

Martin isn’t done. He kisses Malcolm’s softening cock, makes Malcolm sob again, and then kisses a line up his body, to his chest, his neck, until his lips meet Malcolm’s.

Malcolm doesn’t bother fighting or moving. Instead he finds himself kissing back, breathless anddefeated. He’s never wanted anything more than his father to love him, every way that he shouldn’t.

“This has been...eye-opening, really,” says Pete, and Malcolm is startled back to reality. He grunts, arms weak as they reach up to push Martin back.

“My _boy,_ ” Martin admonishes, but he still allows it. “Are you feeling ashamed?”

“That’s only natural, after something like this,” Pete says. He’s still straining against Malcolm’s ass, but he’s never made one move to tend to himself. Martin, on the other hand, has one hand disappeared into his pants, now, looking at Malcolm with half-lidded eyes.

“My beautiful boy,” he murmurs. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re a sin all your own, sprawled out like that...”

Malcolm suddenly can't take it anymore. He shoves himself free of Pete’s arms, crying out and swearing. He stumbles to his feet, shoving his cock back into his pants and pulling them up, tears in his eyes. 

Martin reaches for him, brushing against his leg. “Malcolm—”

Malcolm shouts, “Get the hell away from me!” and slaps his father’s wrist, staggering over the red line again and nearly collapsing against the wall. His belt remains across it, and that's where it will stay. “You—you—”

“I see what you mean, now,” Pete sighs, settling himself back as Martin stands. “The shame, the denial…perhaps if he took confessing a little more seriously…”

“You’re sick!” is all Malcolm can manage in response. Pete smiles a bit, and Martin approaches the line keeping them apart.

“Malcolm...my sweetest little boy…”

“Fuck you! Fuck you, don’t ever—”

“If you’d come just a little closer again,” interrupts his father, “I would fuck you so well it would _ruin_ you.”

Malcolm’s legs go weak. They shake, his knees buckling so suddenly he has to grab onto the door for support. He cries out softly, and Martin smiles.

“Maybe you’re not ready for that. That’s alright, my boy. We'll get there. Today was only the beginning.”

Malcolm can’t breathe, starting to pound on the door. Eventually, someone hears, coming down the hall to unlock it. The guard doesn’t say anything, just glances in at Martin and Pete, and then up at the camera on the wall before gesturing for Malcolm to leave.

“You…” Malcolm trails off, unable to find a thing to say. Instead he goes, feeling the wetness in his underwear with every step.

“Come back soon,” Martin calls after him, an order and not a request. “I miss you already.”

Malcolm never plans to come back.

He knows, though, that he's going to come back anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this and are 18+, maybe you'd like to come hang out on a new PSon server [here](https://discord.com/invite/eQ3TK4bxn4) for Season 2 ☺️♥️


End file.
